90's Poetry

Here's my last post in my 90's writing.

I don't think any of you have ever read my poetry.

There's a perfectly good reason for that.

Let me just take a quick moment to interrupt here. Yes, I was going through a box of old stuff, and did find a notebook filled with stuff I wrote back in high school. It was all in this notebook that I decorated and used throughout my senior year.

Let's examine that notebook. Standard blue cheap $0.25 cent notebook. Ok, there's pictures I taped up there. There's a picture of a scary looking Uncle Sam, holding up a cardboard sign that says "will work for food", which I probably got from one my metal magazines. Next to that is a picture of a Spitfire (airplane). Next to that his a purple monster with the word "heavy" written over it. Next to that is a picture of Heinrich Himmler, which is halfway covering a sticker of a teddy bear. There's a picture of a cryptkeeper looking guy with a Mohawk, and pierced ears. A picture of a field of sunflowers. A picture of a skeleton with wings. A photocopy of the S.O.D. CD cover. Here's a picture of Mussolini, another picture of prisoners, a picture of American GI's in Vietnam. A skull & corresponds, a German eagle, and (the peice de resistance) an Apple computer sticker. Now comes the words. We have "Helter Skelter" pieced together in a ransom note fashion. Also, there's "Way Too Sick", and "Sacred Reich", which, BTW was a great band. Here comes the most disturbing part. Written in red nailpolish: "Piggies".

Ok, open the folder up, and here's a nice picture of the Beatles. There's a picture of the Beatles on the back cover of the notebook, too. No, not the hippie White Album Beatles, but the young I Want to Hold Your Hand Beatles.

I think it's pretty safe to say that I was a strange kid.

So, without further ado:

Poetry

Success

Working you fingers to the bone,
Only to receive a pat on the back,
And a meaningless "Job well done"
For twenty-five years of your life.

Working in the same office,
At the same desk,
In the same chair,
Answering the same phone,
For the same boss
For twenty-five years of your life.

By some fluke of nature
Your work is actually noticed.
You're called into the office.

What awaits you?
A promotion?
A raise?
A partnership?

No.

A "Job well done"
And a plaque of recognition
To sit on your desk
Another twenty-five years.

1/7/93

(hmm... a premonition of my life in 2006? No, my company never would give you a "job well done", let alone an actual plaque! And to be there for twenty-five years? I could only dream of that kind of job security)

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Mercy Lord - 1992

Sacrafice your young to me
Or you shall surely die.
Do not stop to question me
Or even ponder why.
Many young die innocent
In every single way
By the tender hand of the Mercy Lord
Who powers night and day.

He kills them fast and painlessly
To save them from this world
Where peace is gone and all that's left
Is the horror we've unfurled.
A toxic wind has swept the earth
Destroying all in its path;
Leaving sole survivors
To suffer in great wrath.

He guides them to the underworld
And starts them on their way
To living life in happiness
To run, to laugh, to play.
They now can live so carelessly
Without the fear and hate;
Or wondering why they were brought to
This dreaded world too late.

I, myself, the Lord Elect,
Contorl your very lives
I power joy and happiness
Until your own demise.
None around can take control,
I've got that in my hands,
There are none more intelligent
In here or far off lands.

How, you ask, can I stop this fate?
The answer is simply said.
Control the growth of toxic weapons;
Do not avenge the dead.
Put aside your petty fears
And think of all of man;
Join with friends and enemies
To save the sacred land.

1992

(uggh, I'm glad I'm older and wiser now! I totally support nukes, war, and avenging the dead. Thank god my liberal days are long gone!)

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Okay, that's enough embarrassment for now. I'm hoping this will get me back into my fiction writing.

Ok, let me just say one last thing.

Shut up!!!!